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hansensgirl · 3 years

Text

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.

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a-written-dream · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1,788

Fandom: Merlin (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen or Pre-Slash, Rebellion, Arthur Knows About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Cybernetics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Captivity, Identity Reveal, Evil Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, pretty canon-typical though, POV Merlin (Merlin), The Merlin Melee Challenge 2021, Fights, Rebel Leader Arthur

Summary: Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Or: In a world years into the future, Merlin and Arthur fight against the tyranny of Uther Pendragon with an entire rebellion by their side. But Arthur hasn’t been entirely honest and even locked up in a cell Merlin can’t help the burning feelings of betrayal and anger. - For @merlin-fic-server’s Melee Challenge. Prompts: ‘I wish I’d told you’, punk, coin & Russian Violet

The metal is cold against Merlin’s back and against the skin of his wrists, even though he’s been pressed against it for the better part of an hour. He wonders briefly if it’s on purpose, if they keep the cell so cold to inflict more distress and discomfort. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

A florescent light flickers above their heads, and the only sound in the small space is their breaths bouncing off the walls. There are dents in the door from where Arthur tried to break it down, but even with his strength the door didn’t budge, and with the power-dampening cuffs around Merlin’s wrists, Merlin’s magic is all but useless. Arthur kept trying for a formidable amount of time, but when his hand gave off a sickening crunch of metal, he screamed in frustration and punched the wall for good measure before sinking down onto the floor.

Metal scraps still litter the floor around Arthur’s legs where he’s sitting in the corner now, a long time later, the fight all but drained out of him, head in his hands. The silence is heavy and thick and awkward, tense with Merlin’s anger and confusion, with Arthur’s guilt and anxiety.

“I wish I’d told you-“

Arthur’s voice is quiet and yet it seems to echo and boom within the metal box they’re locked into. It startles Merlin out of the apathetic calm he’d been lulled into by the silence. They’re waiting for their inevitable executions, and yet the sound of Arthur’s voice makes a white hot feeling of betrayal course through him.

“What,” he interrupts, “that you were leading a rebellion against your father? Believe me, Arthur, I wish you had too,” he snaps.

Because they had been captured and suddenly Arthur was no longer just Arthur, he was Arthur Pendragon, son of everything they fought against.

Arthur winces in his corner, running his hands through his hair. “No, I-“

Merlin doesn’t let him finish, too angry to keep the words bubbling to the surface down any longer. “How could you keep this from me? From all of us?” Merlin has been by Arthur’s side for years, fighting with him, protecting him, supporting him, and yet Arthur’s kept something as monumental as this a secret. “How could you not tell me?” Why did you not trust me?

“Why?” Arthur snaps, finally looking up to meet Merlin’s gaze. His blue eyes flash with anger, and Merlin is sure his own dark purple ones are just as angry. In Merlin’s fury, they unhelpfully provide him with the weaknesses in Arthur’s protective plating, with information on just where to send a spark of electricity and magic to shut down Arthur’s entire power system and deal the most damage.

Merlin blinks the detailed blueprints away. He has them memorised, but even betrayed and angry and hurt, he would never do anything to harm Arthur.

“Does it matter?” Arthur continues, voice hard and cold and wounded. “Does it matter that he raised me? That I grew up trying to be loved by a tyrant? That it took me years to finally understand the extent of his atrocities and his crimes? It sure doesn’t make me blind to them, now.” There are tears in his eyes and guilt in his voice. “Sure doesn’t make me blind to the horrific things I’ve done in his name, done to people like-“ you, he doesn’t finish. Like Morgana, like Mordred. To people with the ability to infuse their tech with magic. “I hate him, Merlin, and I hate that I still love him, but nothing, nothing, could ever make me see past the things he’s done, the things he is still doing to his own people, to my people, to our people.” He grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut, brow furrowed in a painful frown. When he opens his eyes and looks at Merlin again, he looks so very tired.

“I tried to kill him on sight, when I first understood, really understood. I screamed my throat raw as I condemned him from the cell he put me in, and then I decided that I would do everything in my power to make sure his rule comes to an end. I can’t continue to watch people suffer under his hands, no matter how much my wretched heart still aches for his love and approval. I can’t let him continue to slaughter innocent people simply because they exist in a way that doesn’t appease him or because they disagree with him, even if I can never atone for what I’ve done. I will live with the guilt for all my life but I couldn’t, can’t, continue to live without trying to right the things he’s wronged.”

Merlin can’t do anything but stare at him, for a long stretching moment, watching as Arthur holds his gaze and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. This, this is why they follow Arthur, why the whole rebellion would be willing to lay down their lives for him, because Arthur is a man who hurts with injustices he’s grown up never knowing but has intimate knowledge of, because he sees wrong and does anything he can to make it right, because he’s willing to go against everything he’s been taught to believe and everyone he’s been taught to love to save people he’s never met. Because he’s willing to kill his own father if it means the rest of the world gets to go on living.

“You should have still told me,” Merlin says quietly, his chest aching at the pain in Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur averts his gaze, clenching his hands into fists in front of him. The sound of metal grinding against metal fills their cell.

“I didn’t want you to see me any differently,” he admits quietly.

Merlin’s heart throbs with hurt. Does he not realise Merlin could never? Does he not know the world could turn and end and he would never see Arthur like anything other than the best, the most important person he knows?

“Arthur,” he says softly. He doesn’t continue until Arthur lifts his gaze to look at him. “When I look at you, I see a man who is honourable, compassionate, and kind. I see a man who would do anything to change the world for the better – even go against the father who raised him. I see my best friend,” Merlin watches Arthur grit his teeth and blink the wetness from his eyes, “and I couldn’t see you any differently even if I tried.”

Arthur gives him a hesitant, forced half-smile, hands relaxing against his bent knees.

“I’m hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me,” Merlin admits, and Arthur glances away, shame pinching his brows together. “But I’m not angry at you for being someone’s son.”

When Arthur looks back at him, Merlin smiles. “We cannot help who we are born as, only who we choose to become, and every day I have known you, Arthur, you have chosen a path that is good and just and right, that goes against everything you’ve been born into and raised to believe, to be someone who is kind and fair and understanding. And that makes you the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

Arthur’s eyes are brimming, but he’ll never let the tears fall. He never does. There’s a smile on his lips though, and this time it’s soft and small and real.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says quietly.

Merlin smiles at him again, and he hopes it’s reassuring and forgiving. “The rebellion would do well to know.”

Arthur shakes his head. “They wouldn’t follow me if they did,” he says, as if he truly believes they wouldn’t, as if he doesn’t understand all the reasons each of them have to stand by his side.

“They would,” Merlin tells him, certain and sure. “Sure, there might be backlash from some, but most of them have followed you for long enough to know that it doesn’t matter. They trust you with their lives, Arthur, with the future. Not because of where you come from, but because of who you are. You have proven time and time again that you are willing to lay down your life for the cause just the same as the others, that you will sacrifice everything you have to give for a better world if you must, that you will not hesitate to go through hell to get us there. They don’t doubt your loyalty to them or to the world we’re trying to create, and it won’t change with this truth. They follow you because you are a thoughtful and caring leader, no matter the circumstances of your birth; the only thing that binds you to Uther is your blood and your name. They know that, just as well as I do,” he says. He’s grinning now, the edges of anger only a drop left simmering in his stomach. “You are the rightful heir to the throne, but more importantly, you are their chosen leader, and they will follow you because they choose to do so. Trust them like they trust you.” Merlin holds Arthur’s gaze with steady eyes, and he wonders if the fire he feels in his chest is as clear to Arthur as it is to Merlin. “It matters where you come from only because the world deserves to know that even the son of Uther Pendragon will not tolerate his tyranny or bow beneath him.”

Arthur swallows again. “I don’t know if I can do it.” He looks at Merlin, conflicted and uncertain and scared. But Merlin can see that he’s made up his mind, probably long before Merlin told him to. Perhaps he just isn’t ready to face it alone.

“I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Arthur’s smile is tentative and grateful.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

There’s a beat of silence where all they do is smile at each other, and then Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, flexing his broken fingers. When he opens his eyes again, the fight and the purpose that had first pulled Merlin in shines with the brightness of a hundred suns and Merlin grins so widely his cheeks hurt.

“So, how do we get out of here?”

Metal scraping against metal catches their attention as something slides underneath the door. The brass object on the floor is flat, thin, and round and they both look down at the coin, hundreds of years old and completely useless in a world where physical currency hasn’t existed for well over a century. They only know one person who still carries those around.

They turn to grin at each other.

“Gwaine.”

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin & arthur #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #cyberpunk au #dystopian au #arthur pendragon #nox writes #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hurt and comfort #angst #merthur

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nightcoremoon · 3 years

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putin shouldn’t be murdering innocent people and there’s not really a lot of options on what can be done to help the victims of this invasion.

but I do know that playing the “both sides” argument is not the correct course of action.

fuck putin and fuck everyone who defends his actions here and fuck everyone who has one negative thing to say about anyone or anything in ukraine. and fuck the pampered white kids on tiktok making jokes about this.

eastern europe is going to be the people feeling the negative fallout. not me or any other american. the US military loves and supports putin so not one single american is going to suffer any negative effects from this war besides the obvious empathy-induced anxieties that will crop up in anyone who understands the concept of compassion. which speaking as someone who has bad anxiety is way less of a problem than waking up to explosions and fearing that your family is going to a) get drafted b) die c) separate from you forever d) etc. if you really feel bad about this, go to ukrainians and see what they’re saying will help, and do that. they’re the ones who are suffering and they are the ones you should be listening to.

I’m not gonna talk at length on the subject of war because this is a fandom blog first and foremost, an escape from all of the atrocities of the world. it isn’t my war after all. but I’m now making it explicitly clear here where I stand. I will end all interactions with anyone who supports russian aggression or belittles the suffering the ukrainian citizens will be facing in the coming weeks, possibly months, possibly even years, but let’s hope the bloodshed ends as uneventfully as possible (and in a way that doesn’t turn ukraine into a russian PMC led police state). tbh the best case scenario is putin fucking dies today & his successor immediately aborts the invasion, but that’s probably not going to happen. so instead, pray for them if you believe in prayer, and if you don’t, then spreading awareness and ways to help the victims will probably work too. it’ll work better since christian prayer is utterly worthless in the face of bombings anyway. but that’s getting off topic.

in short: fuck russia, support ukraine.

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mc-critical · 3 years

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hey, welcome back! hope your exams and stuff went well, and that you're doing fine now.

i wanted to hear your opinion on nigar hatun. i remember seeing one post of yours in which you said that she wasn't a favourite of yours like you favoured other characters and honestly, same. i didn't really much understand the fascination with her. she was an interesting character, but i can't imagine having her as a favourite when there are so many more characters who are far more interesting. i wish they gave her an alternate arc. idk what it could be, i'd like to hear your opinion on it. one alternative ending i came up for her is that she was extremely angry at ibrahim for toying with her and hatice for keeping her sweet little esmanur from her so she joins hurrem to defeat them? which hurrem did try but it didn't really go anywhere and nigar was against hurrem for killing ibrahim which just was kinda frustrating. they literally give hurrem no ally in the harem [except mihrimah later on but mihri is overall varying in terms of power] so it would be good for her to have some support in the harem from people who actually hated her enemies like her. she had actual political support from iskender celebi, rustem, and ayaz pasha and all, sure, but she didn't have much support in the harem, like all powerful women of the harem were against her. nigar obviously wasn't powerful like a sultan but she was an old member of the harem, was respected and even though she kinda lost her dignity with the scandal, she could've regained it with hurrem's help. sumbul was there later on but he was just a very faithful servant and didn't really have any real motive to harm any of hurrem's enemies except for out of his loyalty whilst nigar could've cultivated a hatred for hatice and ibrahim. this is a basic plot but i would've kinda liked seeing it. there can be many more ways her character could've ended but it would be good seeing a woman who didn't bow to her feelings all the time. the sultanas couldn't really control their feelings when it came to love because they were princesses who were used to getting what they wanted most of the time but nigar was a servant who also suffered the hardships of slavery and it obviously would've made her tougher as a person so she could control her feelings better; idk, i feel like this is an aspect of women they could've explored [or if they did explore it, i don't remember it lol my memory lapses a lot so i don't remember the show 100%] anyway, would like to hear your thoughts on nigar. thank you. welcome back again <3

Thank you! <33 Yup, I'm fine and the exams went well. Happy Pride month to you, too! 🏳️‍🌈

Hehe, I wrote that post years ago and while Nigar still isn't one of my absolute favourite characters, I've warmed up to her quite a bit. And honestly, now with the wider experience in the fandom, I can say that she isn't all that loved as it looks like. I then was under the limited wrong impression that the BG Mamma forum was a metric of all the popular opinions and yes, they loved Nigar a lot and I was sometimes confused as to why, but really, that and the Russian fanbase are the only places I have encountered that appreciate her all that much. There are characters I find more interesting than her, that's for sure, but she has her charm and I'm firmly against people reducing her to "evil" or "manipulative" or "weak after she fell in love with Ibrahim", so forth.

The thing she sets her first impression with is her intelligence caused by her relatively high experience in the harem. The advice she gave to Hürrem opened the path to her whole goal (as she herself acknowledged in E41) and that makes for quite an impact for a more recurring character. Despite of this, I never viewed early Nigar as someone taking an open side, hence I didn't find her supposed betrayal to Hürrem surprising in the slightest: she is also trying to survive in this environment in any way she knows how and she can't really find a fully comfortable position, because she is well aware that everyone is thinking for their own gain in the end. Including her. So the only choice she has left is to direct herself to where the wind is blowing and get advantages for herself once she gets the chance. Because all the experience has taught her to repress her feelings (E10 to Hürrem: "In this castle you can't show weakness."), opt to be the more level-headed person and seek for the more pragmatic solutions.

And yet she is very sensitive and perceptive to people that are different than the others or that are in need and is willing to lend them her hand. She adviced and helped Hürrem because she found potential in her, because she wanted to see her succeed, but not through endangering her own self or other people in the process (she told Hürrem that her game had gone too far again in E41), but through negotiation, compromise and adaption, to know when to start and when to stop and be respectful to those above her, no matter how hard or limiting that may look in Hürrem's eyes. Hürrem had the tendency in viewing every sign of support that came to her as granted, she still had that naive part of innocence in her in S01 and early on was in a desparate need of someone to lean on and unconditionally follow her path, that's why when Nigar diverted from that path, it hurt and took her a while to start trusting her again. But I didn't see Nigar as all that attached to Hürrem as Hürrem herself thought she was, especially with how Nigar became stuck between two sultanas later in S01 and that rendered her lost and more insecure than usual.

That's also why I don't view her as a two-faced or hypocritical double-crosser. Because for the longest time, Nigar was the one character in the series before Rüstem appeared that was clearly thinking about her own benefit and survival first and foremost from the beginning when darting between the powerful people in the harem and was the one well aware that she simply can't cling to a single side in her own position. Positions aren't permanent and can always change in such circumstances, so why can't she take advantage of this? Because who cares as much about the feelings for a Kalfa they can still order around after all? She has faced disregard from Mahidevran, Hürrem, Ibrahim and even Hatice. It is pretty understandable that she's going to seek the best opportunity for herself.

That whole facade breaks when she falls in love with Ibrahim. During rewatch, I found myself to have a soft spot for this character deconstruction, especially in S02. I know that it came to pass because of her falling in love with a man that doesn't share the same feelings and there were moments where it looked like she overdid it, even in S02, but for me, the whole thing nicely added a new layer of depth, while still feeling true to Nigar's character. Her future relationship with Ibrahim had been building up back in S01, when Ibrahim (both inadvertently and not I fully believe) played a part in helping her solve the first internal conflict she had (that is the struggle between the two sultanas). Maybe this didn't mean that much to Ibrahim, maybe he was simply trying to be helpful, but it meant a lot to Nigar - that was probably the first time someone seemed to take her feelings into account and actually listen when she couldn't help, but crack under the pressure. So it is only natural that she would search for this source of comfort once again, being ready to face every risk in the process. When she is appointed to Hatice and Ibrahim's castle, when she's practically left alone with Ibrahim, she decides to take that chance, to taste the forbidden fruit. He gave her something she never received and due to her not allowing herself to show weakness and having to cave to everyone else's demands before that, every ounce of affection Ibrahim shows her, it means the world to her. Thus she begins to idealize what she has with him, to the point of denial and delusion, and centers her loyalty completely on him. But that loyalty never seems to falter. She began to resent and/or hate everyone who could possibly stand in Ibrahim's way, something she wouldn't have ever done before. She keeps her level-headed self and intelligence (I don't think that this plot line reduced it in any way, not even when she was at her worst.) and she's ready to take any opportunity for herself (case in point: her marriage with Rüstem.), but now her softer sides and her wish for affection are showing all the more.

The problem I have with Nigar's character, writing-wise, and now that I think about it, the main subject of why I didn't get the deal with her back then (along with considering her S01 self bland.. somehow?), is her S03B characterization. While her falling in love with Ibrahim plot-line became an important part of S02 Nigar's storyline, I don't think it overshadowed or dominated over her other characteristics, making for a neat balance of traits and an interesting, nuanced character. In an attempt to keep her for longest time possible in the story, S03B flanderized her in every possible way and overexaggerated her biggest strengths and flaws until they became stale and unbelievable. Her love for Ibrahim read as а near obsession narratively and her opportunism coupled with her will for revenge, which put her into many repetitive intrigues. At one point I even felt she was reduced to a plot-device (the moment Şah Sultan appointed her as a spy) and she felt a little too purposeless and to have totally outstayed her welcome until her last moment in the series.

The root of this problem is again, that they just didn't know when to stop with Nigar. To be brutally honest, she had no long-term role left to play after Ibrahim's death and it was time for the writers to let her go and maintain her generally strong characterization. The ending I would've chosen for her is to simply have Matrakcı give her Esmanur's location and for her to live with her daughter in piece. I know that because of the tonal shift, the show seemed to be already inclined that everyone had to have a tragic ending of sorts, to underline the growing ruthlessness and cruelty of the themes, but I fully believe that Nigar was one of the only characters that were terribly forced through their tragic endings. She didn't need, nor deserve a tragic ending and I doubt it would've been such a problem for the half-season if she didn't get one. I find a happier ending to be perfectly fine for Nigar and I would've loved to see it, if only for a freshness in ideas for character endings. I loved her Esmanur storyline and to witness her finding happiness with her, the only solace she had left, would have been a great wrap up of her S03 plots and an amazing send-off to Nigar's character.

I appreciate the thought you have put into your ending for her and to be fair, your proposal would be much better than anything S03B gave us. It would nearly correspond with the revenge plot of hers they were going for and it would be something more original at the same time. Hürrem's principal lack of allies doesn't bother me as a fact alone, because all her enemies have understandable reasons to be against her, but what bothers me however, is when the writers try using it to dumb her enemies down and make them doom themselves through their own failings or outright use it to put forced (often soapy) conflicts to make the audience sympathize with Hürrem. Or to make everyone "mistitle" her (is that a word? probably not.) or disrespect her on purpose again for sympathy points (that go beyond the part of her motivation that wants to feel respected and does stuff out of fear not to fall under a less favorable position once again.), without changing the status-quo until say, S04.

It is so deliberate it becomes annoying and seeing something else for a change... honestly, gimme! While I personally prefer a happy ending for Nigar, I would live for Nigar and Hürrem to work together again, while keeping what's become her central motivation intact. It may seem a little OOC for Nigar to work for Hürrem by that point, because she's channeled her loss of the most precious people into rage on those that have taken them away, but it would be a decent shifting of gears and a reverence to her opportunism to work to eradicate those she hates for good, even if it means doing so with one of your bigger enemies. After all, after the mission is fulfilled, she could still work against Hürrem in some way, right?

[Tell me if I got what you meant wrongly, but there is an example of a dynasty sultana putting her love feelings behind and by that I mean Şah Sultan. Her love is in the past by the point she arrived in the castle and her love for Ibrahim is only used as a conflict between her and Hatice, which they get over relatively quick. Sisterly love and ambition are a much bigger priority of Şah's: she cared about Hatice past any resentment she may have harbored over the years and agreed to share her life with Lütfi for the advantage this may bring, even though she didn't love him at all. She divorced him only when he offended the pride of a woman and her own personal pride. Other than that, we indeed didn't have a female character in MC that puts her feelings behind in design as far as I recall, only ones that end up clinging to them completely like Nigar here or ones that let go of them eventually like Mahidevran. Characters that have this design by default are more present in MCK like Safiye, or Turhan, or especially Gülbahar, but as I've said many times, MCK is more ruthless, while MC is more about the personal feelings of the characters, hence every motivation they have is somehow tied to them.]

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #nigar kalfa #nigar hatun #ask #mihrimah-sultan-can-rail-me

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arieso226 · 3 years

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The Taliban, Al-Qaeda, and the people affected

NO.1

20 years ago, the U.S took action and invaded Afghanistan after the events of 9/11. No Afghan person was involved in such events, and have been victims themselves to the Taliban and Al-Qaeda prior to 9/11; for 20 long years, innocent Afghan civilians have been suffering, displaced, and killed in a war the U.S incited. Now, as reports came in two weeks ago, President Biden has finally pulled the U.S troops out of the country, the Taliban, now stronger than ever, stormed the capitol of Kabul, declaring it under Taliban rule now.

NO. 2

How was the Taliban and Al-Queda created? Who formed them? By the U.S, during the Cold War Era! The C.I.A, at the time, entered the country to fight against Russia/communism. Once the Russians left that side of the country, so too did the U.S, leaving heavily armed militants with American weapons with nothing to fight against except civilians. ‘‘The CIA gave birth to Osama Bin Laden and breastfed his organization during the 1980′s. Former British Foreign Secretary, Robin Cook, told the House of Commons that Al Qaeda was unquestionably a product of Western intelligence agencies. Mr. Cook explained that Al Qaeda, which literally means an abbreviation of “the database” in Arabic, was originally the computer database of the thousands of Islamist extremists, who were trained by the CIA and funded by the Saudis, in order to defeat the Russians in Afghanistan. America’s relationship with Al Qaeda has always been a love-hate affair. Depending on whether a particular Al Qaeda terrorist group in a given region furthers American interests or not, the U.S. State Department either funds or aggressively targets that terrorist group. Even as American foreign policy makers claim to oppose Muslim extremism, they knowingly foment it as a weapon of foreign policy.’’

NO. 3

‘‘Pashtana Durrani, the founder and executive director of LEARN, a nonprofit focused on education and women's rights, said she had run out of tears for her country. "I have cried so much there are no more tears left in my eyes to mourn. We have been in mourning the fall of Afghanistan for now quite some time. So I'm not feeling very well. On the contrary, I'm feeling very hopeless," she said. Durrani said she'd received text messages from boys as well as girls, who despaired that years of study were "all for nothing." She said the Taliban kept talking about girls' education, but they hadn't defined what that meant. Islamic studies are assumed, but "what about gender education? What about professional education?" she asked. "If you think about it, it makes you hopeless because there's no answer for it."

NO. 4

In fact, in the 1990’s, the Taliban had a strong hold on the country, forcing women to into arranged marriages, banning them from school, and executing those who were not wearing their full-face veils, not to mention banning women from professional careers. The Taliban supported Al-Qaeda to plan terrorist attacks on Western nations. Now that the U.S has left, ‘‘some Taliban members want to address local grievances, others wants to return to the brief period prior to 9/11 when the Taliban controlled Afghanistan in the late 90’s, and the establishment of a caliphate.’’

#afghanistan #prayforafghanistan #taliban #U.S supremacy #Al-Qaeda #'the database'#colonialism #non-profits #violence #terrorism

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nineteenninety-six · 5 years

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Escapsim - Pt3

I’ve literally had a day from hell today and all I want to do is cry and sleep so sorry if this isn’t the best.

General Peaky Blinders tag list: @stassiebabyy @shadow-of-wonder @dayna041101 @futuristicslimemongerbanana @captivatedbycillianmurphy @sweetgoodangel

Escapism tag list: @kingarthurscat @newsieunion @stydia-4-ever @1950schick @writeroutoftime

[PART ONE] [PART TWO] [PART FOUR]

WORD COUNT: 2637

(Y/N) hadn’t seen Tommy since he had come over for dinner and she was glad. Their brief moment alone along with their even briefer kiss made her crave for more but she knew she couldn’t, knowing that it would only end badly for her. Stewart occasionally mentioned him but he hadn’t invited Tommy back around.

Though she had gotten close to Ada, a week after the dinner Stewart passed her a note from Tommy on behalf of his sister. Ada had wanted to get to know her more and had invited her to lunch and the woman hadn’t brought up her brother once in the times that they hung out together and now the woman had become a close friend to her, (Y/N) found that she could relax and talk about almost anything with Ada.

Stewart was turning fifty-seven and had decided to throw a party, inviting all his friends and their wives around for a party that (Y/N) knew was go on till the early house, along with the usual shenanigans that happened at these sort of parties but this time since it was at their house she could escape into her run and she knew Stewart wouldn’t realise, the drugs and the alcohol affecting his attention.

(Y/N) was currently welcoming the guests as they arrived at the party, stood next to Stewart looking like a dutiful wife who loved and supported her husband despite how untrue it was when Tommy arrived, looking handsome and dapper.

“Thomas!” As always, Stewart was excited to see Tommy.

“Stewart.” Tommy’s smile was strained.

“You can deal with the rest of the guest by yourself can’t you darling? Good alright.” Stewart said before he left, an arm around Tommy’s shoulders guiding him into the room where the part was being held.

(Y/N) watched after them speechless, unable to do anything as more guests arrived meaning she had to take care of them, explaining where Stewart was, whenever they asked.

When she had finally finished greeting everyone (Y/N)’s feet hurt like hell and all she wanted to do was slip her heels off and curl up in bed but she had to suck it up and mingle for the rest of the evening, at least until the evening activities started. (Y/N) was making her way around the party room making small talk with Stewart’s friends and their wives when she ran into Margaret and Mary-Anne, the women had separated from their husbands and made their way to the younger woman. (Y/N) had gotten closer to Margaret over the past few weeks and she had become a close friend to her.

“(Y/N)! How are you, dearie?” As always, Margaret was chipper.

“I’ve been well.” (Y/N) hugged the two women, “I haven’t seen you two in a while, how have you been.”

“You know how it is (Y/N), it’s been the usual.” Mary-Anne answered as she passed the younger woman a drink.

“No gossip?” (Y/N) asked with an eyebrow raised. Despite not exactly liking the wives social group, (Y/N) was a sucker for the drama and gossip that existed in them.

Mary-Anne smirked before she and Margaret hooked their arms on either side of (Y/N) and began leading her to the corner where there were some free seats,

“You remember Edith, right?” Margaret asked

(Y/N) thought it over for a bit, “The one married to Howard?”

“Yes, well rumour has it, she was caught with another man.” Mary-Anne spoke in a low voice.

(Y/N) choked on her drink, unable to believe what she had just heard. The only thing that was running through her head was her and Tommy, even though nothing had actually happened between them.

“W-What?” (Y/N) asked

“Well, apparently Howard had allowed her to do it and he can sleep with whoever he wants to as well.” Margaret finished off

(Y/N) gaped at the two of them, “Are you serious?”

The women nodded and took sips of their drinks.

(Y/N) didn’t know what to say but luckily she didn’t have to say anything as Stewart called her name, waving her over to where he was still standing with Tommy.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Waving goodbye to her friends, (Y/N) left them and walked over to her husband.

“Mr. Shelby.” (Y/N) greeted the man. Tommy nodded his head at her as a greeting.

“Thomas here was just extended an invitation to us to attend a charity dinner but unfortunately I cannot go but I said you’ll attend on behalf of me as well. That’s fine isn’t it sweetheart?” Although it was a question, Stewart wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Of course, I’d love to attend.”

“Good girl.”

(Y/N) grit her teeth at his words, whenever he spoke to her like that or involved her age, it felt demeaning and insulting.

“It’ll be a pleasure to have you there.” Tommy told her.

(Y/N) nodded, refusing to look at him, the memories of what had happened a few weeks ago still fresh in her mind.

“Oh, Michael!” Stewart once again had gone off somewhere once he spotted one of his friends.

“You don’t have to go to the dinner if you don’t want to.” Tommy informed her.

(Y/N) finally looked up at him, knowing it would be rude to keep looking away as they spoke/

“No, I’d love to attend. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course.”

“Stewart mentioned it was a charity dinner, what are you raising money for?” (Y/N) asked

“‘The Grace Shelby Institute for Orphaned Children’” Tommy answered

“Grace Shelby...oh your late wife?”

“Yes, me and my family built the orphanage shortly after her death.”

“How noble of you. It’d be an honour to join you.”

“It would be an honour to have you there.” Tommy smiled at (Y/N) and she smiled back.

They chatted a bit more before they split ways, (Y/N) returning to Margaret and Mary-Anne for the rest of the night until the thing she hates the most finally arrives. When Margaret and Mary-Anne go over to their husbands, (Y/N) swipes a couple of drinks and swiftly exits. As she left the house and made her way over to the field that was next to the mansion, she tried to convince herself that the reason why she took two drinks was that so she could have both of them and not because she secretly hoped Tommy would also escape the party and find her, like how he did the first time they met.

(Y/N) was sitting on the ground, not caring about the dirt, lost in her mind, gaze on the moon and appreciating the sounds of nature, when she was interrupted.

“Great minds think alike once again eh”

It was Tommy and (Y/N) couldn’t suppress her smile when she looked up at him, “I wondered if I was going to see you tonight.”

Tommy huffed a sigh as he sat next to her, “Who knew trying to escape and drug infused orgy would be so hard.”

“I brought you a drink, you know just in case.” (Y/N) passed Tommy the glass of whiskey she had brought with her.

Tommy smiled at her and took the drink, taking a swig before he moved to light his cigarette.

“I need to apologize for what happened a few weeks ago. I overstepped and caused you distress. I’m sorry.”

“Tommy-no, I…” (Y/N) paused unable to articulate her thoughts properly.

“Stewart is not a nice man, even something as innocent as friendship could get us in trouble, I’d rather not get you involved with that.” She continued

“But you’re not happy (Y/N), I can help you, don’t you understand?” Tommy had crushed his cigarette and turned to face her fully, bending his head down so that he could look into her eyes.

“I’m not happy but I’d rather suffer through this than have you killed because we’ve done something and Stewarts found out. I won’t be the reason you die Tommy.”

Tommy pressed his head against hers, “Just let me help you.”

“I can’t. Even this is risky, we’re right next to my home where there are a hundred workers who are loyal to Stewart and won’t hesitate to tell him if they see something suspicious. One thing goes wrong and we’re both dead Tommy.” (Y/N) was teary-eyed.

Tommy took both her hands in his and asked her a question,

“Ever heard of the Peaky Blinders?”

“Peaky Blinders? No, what is it?”

“A gang. My family gang. We’ve got people in Birmingham, London...just ask and I’ll do it.”

(Y/N) ignored the last part, focusing on the first part of his sentence instead,

“A gang? You’re involved in a gang?” (Y/N) didn’t believe him.

“Before I was all this, I was a poor boy in Birmingham and my family started a gang, mostly taking bets on fixed races but after the war, we started to move up, less of a gang and more of a business,” Tommy explained.

(Y/N) was intrigued, “What sort of stuff did you do before you became an MP?”

Tommy laid back so that he was laying down and he could see the stars in the sky, “Where should I start….I’ve killed a few people under the orders of the IRA and British Government, stole some jewels from Russian duchesses and a duke, smuggled alcohol into America and Canada and some other things that I can’t remember.”

“You can’t be serious can you?” (Y/N) didn’t believe him.

“I am.” Tommy turned his head to look at her.

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“So you’ve worked up from merely a gang member to MP, that’s certainly something.”

“Impressed?” Tommy quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Absolutely.” (Y/N) mimicked Tommy’s previous response causing both of them to laugh.

Tommy sat back up and moved closer to (Y/N), “Please, just ask me and I’ll do it.”

(Y/N) pressed her hand to his cheek, “I’m sorry Tommy, it’s too risky, I don’t want you hurt.”

Tommy moved his head close to hers and slowly pressed his lips to hers, giving (Y/N) time to pull away if she wanted to but she didn’t, she allowed him to kiss her and this time, she kissed back and when Tommy pulled her onto his lap, she continued to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck. (Y/N) wasn’t sure how long they spent kissing on the field but it was only when the sound of cars starting did she finally pull away from Tommy,

“That’ll be everyone’s drivers” (Y/N) slightly panted, out of breath, “You should go before everyone leaves.”

Tommy helped her up and kissed her one more time, “I’ll see you at the dinner.”

“Of course.”

One more kiss and Tommy was making his way down the field and over to his car and (Y/N) picked up the empty glasses and crept back to the house, slipping through the side entrance and running up to her room.

(Y/N) made her way to Arrow House a few weeks later. She had finally come to Birmingham for Tommy’s charity dinner and she had been counting down the days since Stewart's birthday, spending every waking moment thinking about Tommy, the man who had captured her heart in just a few meetings. She didn’t know if Stewart had caught on to her weird behaviour but she didn’t care, not when she was moments away from seeing Tommy again.

Thanking the maid who had taken her coat, (Y/N) made her way into the ballroom, hearing soft music and chatter. When she entered it felt like a breath of fresh air, the people that occupied the room weren’t like the ones that usually came to the parties she attended with Stewart. They still were probably absurdly rich but at the same time they gave off a kind vibe.

“(Y/N)�� Tommy had left the person he was talking to as soon as he spotted (Y/N), making his way over to her.

“Tommy” (Y/N) breathed, a smile on her face.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Tommy slid an arm around her waist and began to guide her somewhere, “Let me introduce you to my family.”

(Y/N) was apprehensive but figured that since Ada was nice, then the rest of the Shelby clan shouldn’t be terrible.

Tommy led them over to an older woman who was with a young man and young woman,”(Y/N), this is my aunt Polly and my cousin Michael and his wife Gina.”

(Y/N) noticed a slight hesitation when Tommy introduced Gina which made her think that the woman wasn’t exactly accepted by the family.

“Nice to meet you.” (Y/N) held her hand out.

“It’s a pleasure Mrs Langley” Polly’s grip on her hand was tight and her eyes told (Y/N) that she was scouting her out. Along with the use of her title and last name, (Y/N) surmised that Polly didn’t trust her or particularly like her.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Michael interrupted his mother's inspection and held his hand out and (Y/N) shook his before moving to shake his wives.

“Langley….as in the Langleys of London?” Gina pondered.

(Y/N) didn’t like the look on Gina’s face as she asked the question she obviously knew the answer to, she wondered if the hesitation on Tommy’s part was due to the facade Gina had.

“Yes.. Stewart is my husband.” (Y/N) replied with a sweet smile, refusing to sink down to Gina’s level.

“Ah” Gina responded, a particular look on her face, one that (Y/N) couldn't decipher.

Tommy guided her over to a couple, a tall ginger man and a small blonde woman

"This is my older brother Arthur and his wife Linda." Tommy introduced

"Nice to meet you." They exchanged pleasantries and (Y/N) was grateful that neither of them started anything.

"(Y/N)!"

(Y/N) turned around and saw Ada walking over to them with a smile.

"I haven't seen you ages, c'mon" Ada took her arm in hers and pulled her away, not even sparing a look at her brothers.

"Nice to see you too Ada"

"You've met my family, what do you think?" The younger woman asked, passing her a drink.

"Well they certainly leave an impression don't they"

Ada snorted, "That's one way to put it."

Ada kept her company for the rest of the evening, introducing her to the odd family friend they came across but otherwise, the women kept to themselves, though (Y/N) could feel the stares coming from Polly. Ada told her that Polly was the matriarch of the family and took care of all of the siblings when their mother died so it made sense to (Y/N) why she was being cautious over new people.

Tommy had cornered her the moment she was alone, which meant that as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom she was being dragged into a random room.

“I haven’t seen you all day.” Tommy closed the door behind him.

“Blame your sister.”

“I’ve missed you.” Tommy strode over to her and took her face in his arms

“I’ve missed you too.”

Tommy kissed her and moved her backwards until the back of her legs hit something, causing her to squeal and fall down. Expecting to fall onto something hard and uncomfortable, (Y/N) was caught off guard when she fell on something soft and springy. It was a bed.

Tommy looked down at her from where he stood in front of her, “You sure you want to do this?”

(Y/N) nodded. She was sure.

#tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #x reader #peaky blinder imagine #imagines #peaky blinder imagines

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mkobooks · 4 years

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Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevesky

Last year, I read Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. I had mixed feelings about--it was at times incredible and moving and at numerous others, an enormous slog. Until a few weeks ago, it was the only Russian classic that I’d read.

Crime and Punishment was one of those books I’d heard of, of course, but it never came onto my radar as something I might want to read until I saw it featured as a “McGuffin” in The Flight Attendant on HBO (I got the novel from the library the other day and will probably be reviewing it in about a month). Then, as luck would have it, I stumbled onto Reddit’s “Classic Book Club” subreddit. They were staring off 2021 with C&P so I decided to join in thinking that reading one chapter per day shouldn’t be too difficult. Instead, the greater challenge was to limit myself to read only one chapter each day!

Spoilers for a 150+ year old classic~~

From the very beginning, I found myself pitying and relating to Rodya, the destitute former student who commits the eponymous crime and suffers its punishment. He’d been keeping to himself inside his (completely disgusting) apartment, reluctant to even run into his land-lady, and moping about without purpose. Despite his poverty, he gives money to the sickly wife of Marmeladov a stranger he meets at a pub, and despite his listlessness, he has actually been formulating a plan to murder and rob the pawnbroker to whom he has sold several possessions.

Then, he does it. He actually does it! 🪓 🪓

And Dostoyevsky presents the reader with the question that is prominent through the novel: Is there good in Rodya’s heart? Or is he a deranged murderer?

To further complicate things, a police detective seems right on his tail thanks to Rodya’s recently published article about criminals and their motivations, and his sister, Dunia, is engaged to Luzhin, a rich, creepy, asshole, and being low-key stalked by Svidrigailov and even creepier asshole. All the while, Rodya goes back and forth about whether or not he should turn himself in or kill himself.

This novel was at times a thriller--so many tense moments between Rodya and the detective, Porfiry--and at others an intense character study and philosophical critique. Is the murder of one “louse”--as Rodya often characterizes his victim--justified if it could help hundreds of others?

That said, Rodya is not a great person and he spends most of the book irritable, sickly, or just plain rude to his friends and family. But when contrasted with the other monstrous men in this book: Marmeladov, whose alcoholism has impoverished and ruined his family; Luzhin who’s looking for a poor but pretty woman to “rescue” through marriage; and Svidrigailov who killed his wife and abused several others, is he that bad? Is he redeemable? Should he be redeemed and like Lazarus, be able to come back to life?

I enjoyed the comparisons between these objectively terrible men--and the contrasts with the more decent male characters, Detective Porfiry, and Rodya’s friend Razumihin. Yet, as a modern reader, I couldn’t help but bristle at the treatment of Rodya’s foil and eventual love interest, Sonia.

Marmeladov’s daughter from his first marriage, Sonia is forced to become a prostitute (a “yellow ticket” as it’s referred to in the book) in order to support her family. She is described as child-like and innocent in her devotion to her family (she is “technically” a young adult) yet the narrative presenters her as sinful as he. “The murder and the harlot” as they’re described shortly before Rodya implores her to go away with him, exclaiming: “we are both accursed, ... [because] you, too, have transgressed... you have laid hands on yourself, you have destroyed a life... your own (it’s all the same!).”

It’s never exactly clear why Sonia likes him, but without her support Rodya never would have been able to confess and--bafflingly--she follows him to Siberia where he is imprisoned. This angered me when I read it in the first part of the epilogue. Why would she follow this loser to the least hospitable part of Russia where he was sentenced to eight years in jail?

But, to my surprise, C&P ends on an optimistic note. Unlike Petersburg, the rural village in Siberia is actually great for Sonia. She helps the prisoners and easily earns the love and respect she deserves from the community. And, thanks to her love, Rodya is able to see the “dawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life.” In my opinion, he’s not exactly redeemed since he’s not all that contrite, but at the very least, he’s less unpleasant and open to changing himself and finding a way to repay Sonia.

This is just scratching the surface of everything that happened within this book. I would absolutely recommend it (here it is on Project Gutenberg). It is exciting, thought-provoking, and timeless; well-deserving of its status as a “classic.”

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky My rating: 4 of 5 stars

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the first moment, before a word is spoken.

#book review #classics #fyodor dostoyevsky #crime and punishment #russian literature #book club

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thecaffeinebookwarrior · 5 years

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More Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing

A long while back, I typed up some posts ranting about characters and tropes I disliked. These were Male and Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing, and they’ve become my most popular posts yet. Recently, I was struck by some topical inspiration, and decided it was time for a sequel!

One again, these are my personal, subjective opinions! No one dictates your writing or portrayals but you, and no one can or should decide how you consume fiction. Also, as you may notice, I actually like most of the ladies below; I just don’t like certain aspects of their portrayal.

Enjoy, and happy writing everybody!

1. The Daenerys (i.e. the spontaneous war criminal)

Image source

Who she is:

The formerly heroic Mother of Dragons, who randomly charbroiled a city full of innocent people.

Why it sucks:

I’m not even talking about this from a feminist standpoint, or how one of the most consistently heroic and powerful female characters took an abrupt and undignified backflip into the Dark Side. I’m speaking from a writer’s standpoint.

Regardless of whether you liked Daenerys, she was rivaled only by Jon and Brienne as the show’s most consistently heroic character From locking away her dragon children to ensure the safety of her subjects, to freeing countless enslaved citizens, she’s spent a decade proving herself to be an altruistic and noble figure. And then, in the final two episodes of the entire show, the writers dracarys-ed that shit.

For some comparison, just imagine how ridiculous it would be if Jon Snow suddenly went batshit and started hacking up citizens because he was feeling stressed. That’s about as plausible as Dany’s sudden passion for genocide.

And for the record, I’m not opposed to Daenerys becoming Mad Queen. If it was done properly. This would mean informing the actress far in advance so she could modify her portrayal accordingly (which they didn’t), and building up to it through foreshadowing and established attributes. Not at the last fucking minute.

Honestly, the only characters who remained narratively consistent to the very end are Drogon and Ghost, who are both precious babies who did nothing wrong.

How to avoid her:

Decide as early as possible where a character arc is going. Contrary to what Game of Thrones seems to believe, the character arc is important. It should have a beginning, challenges that incite development, and a satisfying conclusion that showcases how a character has changed and evolved.

And if you didn’t decide early? You still have to come up with a conclusion that makes sense for your character, and not slap on the most unexpected ending possible in the name of Subverting Expectations.

On that note? Subverting expectations isn’t always a good thing, and a reader predicting your ending isn’t the worst possible outcome. Focus on telling a good story.

2. The Rayon (i.e. the transgender stereotype)

Who she is:

A transgender woman (portrayed by the male, cisgender Jared Leto) dying slowly of AIDS in Dallas Buyer’s Club. Her role in the narrative is to teach the supposedly heterosexual (more on that later) main character that queer people are human beings.

Why it sucks:

Rayon is many things in Buyer’s Club, and most are firmly rooted in stereotypes. She’s a sassy, flirtatious, clothing-obsessed, self-loathing, drug-addicted prostitute. She’s hypersexual, but never treated as romantically desirable. She’s tragic, but also one of the few consistently comedic characters in an otherwise bleak film.

It’s her job to gently goad the main character into treating her with basic respect, but he never quite gets there. He refers to her with male pronouns throughout the entire film, and never acknowledges her as a woman. At one point, he aims a gun at her genitals and offers her a “sex change operation.” Which, is supposed to be comedic.

This isn’t to say that there are no sassy, flirtatious, clothing-obsessed, self-loathing, drug-addicted transgender sex workers, nor is there anything wrong with “stereotypical” trans people. It isn’t the job of the marginalized to dispel stereotypes. And if real trans people had created and portrayed Rayon, she could have been a realistic, dynamic, and compelling character.

And I say “created” because Rayon is strictly fictional. Outside of this film, she didn’t exist.

“Well, at least they tried to offer representation!” you protest. “What else was it supposed to be about? A straight dude in the AIDS epidemic?”

Well, no. Though the main character, Ron Woodroof, is presented to us as a violently homophobic, transphobic, womanizing asshole, the real Woodroof was, by all accounts, kind-hearted, open-minded, and bisexual.

What could have been a powerful story of a queer man defying his diagnosis, living joyfully and meaningfully, and helping to prolong the lives of countless AIDS-sufferers, was instead watered down to a story of a straight, pugnacious asshole and his stereotypical, long-suffering, transgender sidekick who dies to Teach Him Compassion.

How to avoid her:

Read books by trans people. Consume media they create or endorse.

List of youtube channels created by trans people here, and 21 books for trans awareness month here.

Put out a special call for transgender beta readers to point out mistakes, misconceptions, and offer tips on an authentic portrayal.

Garner insight into their perspective and experiences, and give them personalities outside of being trans.

3. The Piper Chapman (i.e. the unflavored oatmeal)

GIF source

Who she is:

The “protagonist” of Orange is the New Black, and its least compelling character. She and Larry are the sort of people who would ask me for a threesome on Tinder.

Why it sucks:

Piper’s hook is that she’s a privileged, affluent white woman who unjustly finds herself in prison for -- well, for crimes she committed. But expected to get away with, because, Privilege.

This isn’t to say Piper is boring. She’s far from likable, but being likable and being boring aren’t the same thing. In another series, watching a relatively cushioned, naive, bourgeoisie woman string along various significant others, thoughtlessly incite violence, and navigate an unfamiliar prison setting would make for thought-provoking and hilarious satire.

But when compared to her charismatic supporting cast, with richly developed backstories, motivations, and relationships, she’s painfully bland. I would much rather watch a series centered around Suzanne, Nikki, Taystee, Poussey, or even Pennsatucky. They’re just more developed, opulent, enjoyable characters.

It could be argued that Piper is the viewpoint character, whom the audience is supposed to relate to. But I can assert that I don’t relate to Piper. At all. Her lack of empathy towards others -- such as leaving Alex after the death of her mother, cheating on her fiance, and inadvertently starting a *ahem* white power gang -- alienated me to her.

Which might not be such a bad thing, but Piper is (supposedly) the protagonist. We don’t need to like her, but we should probably be able to relate to her.

Or maybe I’m just jealous that hot women aren’t inexplicably fighting over me.

How to avoid her:

Your protagonist doesn’t have to be the most likable character in your story. They don’t even necessarily have to be the most interesting character in your story. And certainly not the most morally good, powerful, or knowledgeable. But the viewpoint character is the character who we spend the most time with, and from whose eyes we perceive the story. It’s important that we understand and relate to them emotionally.

Look at examples like BoJack Horseman, Holden Caulfield, Tony Soprano, Beatrix from Kill Bill, Mavis from Young Adult, Nadia from Russian Doll. All are complex characters, with varying degrees of moral ambiguity. Yet we can empathize with them emotionally and identify with them. Even if we’ve never been in their situation, we see where they’re coming from.

4. The Charlie (i.e. the dead lesbian)

Who she is:

One of the few recurring openly queer characters in the incredibly long-running Supernatural. A lesbian who’s journey was (sort of) brought to an end when she was killed and dumped in a bathtub to incite drama.

Why it sucks:

I love Supernatural but it can be remarkably tone deaf towards queer people, women, and marginalized groups. Which, probably merits fixing, considering its following is largely comprised of queer people, women, and marginalized groups.

I probably shouldn’t have to explain why killing off women and queer people for drama is Bad, but I’ll delve into its history a little: from what I’ve read, censorship laws of the twentieth century forbade the portrayal of queer people unless they were ultimately killed or “reformed.” This is why so much LGBTQ+ fiction is essentially gay tragedy porn, and why gays are so frequently buried to aid in the emotional narrative of their straight counterparts.

That’s not to say queer people can never be killed off. I might not have an issue with Charlie’s death (especially in a show as violent as Supernatural), if she weren’t the only openly queer character at the time.

And there’s plenty of room for representation! If Dean was openly bisexual, if angels were vocally confirmed to be nonbinary, and if there were more recurring, respectfully portrayed female and sapphic characters, Charlie’s death might not feel like such as slap in the face. But as it is, it feels like a contribution to an ugly pattern.

In fairness, Supernatural has since improved in its portrayal of queer people: two gay male hunters were introduced and given a happy ending, an alternate universe version of Charlie was introduced to the cast, and God is portrayed as a bisexual man.

Yes. All of that happened. You have to see it to understand.

How to avoid her:

Educate yourself on the history of censorship in the LGBTQ+ community, as well as hate crimes and decreased life expectancy. Make sure you aren’t contributing to the suffering of queer people.

If you have only one confirmed queer character in the midst of a very large cast, I’m inclined to think you need more. You could say I’m BI-ased on the matter, though.

Look up “fridging,” and think about how many stories use the death of female characters to incite drama for men.

5. The Allison (i.e. the reformed feminine)

GIF source

Who she is:

She’s one of the most interesting members of the Breakfast Club, and that’s saying something. A self-proclaimed compulsive liar who will “do anything sexual” with or without the promise of a million dollars (as well as one of the most quotable characters in the film) she demonstrates the emotional pain and complexity that’s often ignored or shrugged off as teen angst.

And then she gets a makeover and a hot boyfriend, and suddenly everything’s better.

Why it sucks:

It would be one thing if Allison’s problem was that she didn’t feel pretty or desirable. But she never (to my recollection) offers any indication of that, and that’s part of what makes her such a refreshing portrayal of insecurity. She’s emotionally neglected by her parents, and that is appropriately treated as devastating.

It’s a complex and beautifully-portrayed problem that deserved far more than such a superficial, slapped-on solution.

Similarly, there’s no reason why Allison is paired up with the jock at the end of the film. Neither showed any romantic interest in one another until her unnecessary makeover.

A much better ending to her arc would be her finding acceptance among her newfound friends, and finally garner the recognition and acknowledgement she never got from her parents.

I was torn between using Allison for this example, or Sandy’s makeover from Grease. In both, girls are encouraged to alter their appearances to solve plot-related problems. And both were “fixed” to conform to some standard of femininity or feminine sexuality that they didn’t meet before.

How to avoid her:

If a character feels the need to change their appearance to accommodate others or be respected, that should probably be treated as a negative thing.

Your character’s appearance can be a good tool to represent emotional changes. If they alter their appearance, there should be a meaningful reason behind it -- outside of fitting into societal norms or garnering the approval of others.

A girl putting on makeup isn’t a groundbreaking plot point, and girls who don’t perform to standards of femininity aren’t broken or deficient. They don’t need “correcting.”

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #game of thrones spoilers #transphobia #orange is the new black #supernatural #fridging #homophobia #charlie bradbury #the breakfast club #grease #sexism

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newstfionline · 4 years

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Saturday, December 26, 2020

Getting creative to help the homeless (AP) After three years on the streets, Tiecha Vannoy and her boyfriend Chris Foss plan to weather the pandemic this winter in a small white “pod” with electricity, heat and enough room for two. Portland this month assembled neat rows of the shelters, which resemble garden sheds, in three ad-hoc “villages”—part of an unprecedented effort unfolding in cold-weather cities nationwide to keep people without permanent homes safe as temperatures drop and coronavirus cases surge. “We just get to stay in our little place. We don’t have to leave here unless we want to,” said Vannoy, wiping away tears as they moved into the shelter near a downtown train station. “It’s been a long time coming. He always tells me to have faith, but I was just over it.” ... “Those (are) folks who would under normal circumstances maybe come into a drop-in center to warm up, or go into the subway to warm up, or go into a McDonald’s to warm up—and just not having those options available to them. What then?” asked Giselle Routhier of the Coalition for the Homeless in New York City.

Raise your mittens: Outdoor learning continues into winter (AP) Cindy Soule’s fourth graders in Maine’s largest city have studied pollination in a community garden. They solved an erosion problem that was damaging trees. They learned about bear scat. Then came a fresh layer of snow and temperatures that hovered around freezing—but her students were unfazed. Bundled up and masked, they scooted outside with their belongings in buckets. They collected their pencils and clipboards, plopped the buckets upside down in the snow, took a seat and went to work. The lesson? Snow, of course, and how snowflakes are formed. Schools nationwide scrambled to get students outdoors during the pandemic to keep them safe and stop the spread of COVID-19. Now, with temperatures plummeting, a smaller number of schools—even in some of the nation’s most frigid climes—plan to keep it going all winter long, with students trading desks in warm classrooms for tree stumps or buckets.

Explosion in Nashville that damaged 20 buildings, injured 3 people an ‘intentional act’ (USA Today) Authorities believe an explosion that occurred in downtown Nashville early Christmas morning and was felt for miles was an “intentional act” sparked by a vehicle. Police responded to reports of a suspicious vehicle parked outside the AT&T building just before 6 a.m. Upon arrival, police said an officer “had reason” to alert the department’s hazardous devices unit, which was en route, when a “significant explosion” happened. Three people were hospitalized with injuries, police said. At least 20 buildings were damaged, Nashville Mayor John Cooper said. The sound of the explosion could be heard from miles away, and people reported windows shaking from South and East Nashville. “It looks like a bomb went off,” Cooper said. The downtown area will be “sealed off” for further investigation and to make sure everything is “completely safe.”

US to require negative COVID-19 test from UK travelers (AP) The United States will require airline passengers from Britain to get a negative COVID-19 test before their flight, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention announced late Thursday. The U.S. is the latest country to announce new travel restrictions because of a new variant of the coronavirus that is spreading in Britain and elsewhere. Airline passengers from the United Kingdom will need to get negative COVID-19 tests within three days of their trip and provide the results to the airline, the CDC said in a statement. The agency said the order will be signed Friday and go into effect on Monday. “If a passenger chooses not to take a test, the airline must deny boarding to the passenger,” the CDC said in its statement. The agency said because of travel restrictions in place since March, air travel to the U.S. from the U.K. is already down by 90%.

Many just want a hug for Christmas this year, Queen Elizabeth says (Reuters) All many people want for Christmas this year is a simple hug, Britain’s Queen Elizabeth said in her annual festive message, saying it would be hard for those who lost loved ones to COVID-19 pandemic or were separated by curbs on social mixing. In her traditional pre-recorded Christmas Day address to the nation, the 94-year-old monarch repeatedly spoke of hope for the future whilst acknowledging millions of Britons would be unable to have their usual family celebrations this year. “Of course for many, this time of year will be tinged with sadness; some mourning the loss of those dear to them, and others missing friends and family members distanced for safety when all they really want for Christmas is a simple hug or a squeeze of the hand,” Elizabeth said. “If you are among them, you are not alone. And let me assure you of my thoughts and prayers.” “Remarkably, a year that has necessarily kept people apart has in many ways brought us closer,” said the queen, adding the royals had been inspired by stories of those who volunteered to help others in need. “In the United Kingdom and around the world, people have risen magnificently to the challenges of the year and I’m so proud and moved by this quiet indomitable spirit.”

For the European Union, It’s a Pretty Good Deal (NYT) The European Union emerges from fraught negotiations with Britain over its exit from the bloc with a sense of satisfaction—that it has maintained its unity and its core principles, especially the integrity of the single market of now 450 million consumers that is the foundation of its influence. And it is now looking ahead to its life without Britain. The final deal is a free-trade agreement that recognizes Britain’s desire to leave the single market and the customs union while preserving tariff-free, quota-free trade in goods with the European Union. To that end, Britain agreed to a mechanism, with arbitration and possible tariffs for violations, that would keep its regulations and subsidies roughly in line with those of Brussels, to prevent unfair competition. But the deal will require inspections of goods to prevent smuggling. The deal also covers many mundane but crucial matters of visas, health insurance, and air, rail and road travel. It treats Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom, as within the E.U. customs area to prevent the need for a hard border on the island, but requires some checks on goods going from Britain to Northern Ireland. And the deal reallocates fishing areas and quotas, given that Britain is now an independent coastal state.

Pope Francis celebrates low-key Christmas Eve Mass amid coronavirus restrictions (Fox News) Pope Francis celebrated Christmas Eve Mass on Thursday night amid coronavirus restrictions that reduced a normal crowd of as many as 10,000 congregants to a group of fewer than 100 people, according to reports. During his homily, the Roman Catholic leader urged followers to reach out to the needy, noting that Jesus Christ was considered an outsider. “The Son of God was born an outcast, in order to tell us that every outcast is a child of God,” the pope said. May the Child of Bethlehem help us, then, to be generous, supportive and helpful, especially towards those who are vulnerable, the sick, those unemployed or experiencing hardship due to the economic effects of the pandemic, and women who have suffered domestic violence during these months of lockdown,” he said.

Turkey debates law that would increase oversight of NGOs (Reuters) Turkey’s parliament began debating a draft law on Friday that would increase oversight of non-governmental organisations and which, according to rights campaigners, risks limiting the freedoms of civil-society groups. The government says the measure, covering “foundations and associations”, aims to prevent non-profit organisations from financing terrorism and to punish those who violate the law. Civil-society groups, including Amnesty International and the Human Rights Association, said terrorism charges in Turkey were arbitrary, and that the draft law would violate the presumption of innocence and punish those whose trials were not finalised.Investigations based on terrorism charges have been launched against hundreds of thousands of people under a crackdown following a failed coup in 2016. Hundreds of foundations were also shut down with decrees following the coup attempt.

Half of Russians sceptical Kremlin critic Navalny was poisoned (Reuters) Half of Russians believe that Kremlin critic Alexei Navalny was either not poisoned, as he and Western governments contend, or that his poisoning was stage-managed by Western intelligence services, a poll showed on Thursday. The poll, released by the Levada-Center, shows how hard it remains for Navalny to shape public opinion in Russia even as his case attracts wide media attention in the West and his own slickly-produced videos of what happened to him this summer rack up millions of views online. Navalny, one of President Vladimir Putin’s most outspoken critics, was airlifted to Germany for medical treatment in August after collapsing on a plane in Russia. Germany has said he was poisoned with a Soviet-style Novichok nerve agent in an attempt to murder him, an assertion many Western nations accept. The poll by Levada, which is regarded as more independent than state counterparts, showed only 15% of Russians believed what happened to Navalny was an attempt by the authorities to rid themselves of a political opponent. By contrast, 30% thought that the incident was stage-managed and that there was no poisoning, and 19% said they believed it was a provocation orchestrated by Western intelligence services.

Hong Kong street refrigerator keeps giving (AP) Most people who head to Woosung Street in Hong Kong’s old-school neighborhood of Jordan are visiting its popular restaurants serving everything from curries to seafood. Others may be headed for a lone refrigerator, painted blue, with a sign that reads: “Give what you can give, take what you need to take.” The door of the fridge sitting outside a hockey academy opens to reveal it is stuffed with packets of instant noodles, biscuits, tins of food and even socks and towels for anyone who may need them. Ahmen Khan, founder of a sports foundation on the same street, said he was inspired to create a community refrigerator after seeing a film about others doing the same thing. He found the refrigerator at a nearby refuse collection point and painted it blue. “It’s like a dignity, that when you go home, you open your fridge to get food,” Khan said. “So I want the people to just feel like that. Even if it’s a street, it’s their community, it’s their home, so they can simply just open it and then just put food there, and collect the food.” Khan’s blue refrigerator project went viral on social media and people have been dropping by to leave food inside.

Israeli jets fly over Beirut, explosions reported in Syria (AP) Israeli jets flew very low over parts of Lebanon early Friday, terrifying residents on Christmas Eve, some of whom reported seeing missiles in the skies over Beirut. Minutes later, Syria’s official news agency reported explosions in the central Syrian town of Masyaf. Other Syrian media said Syrian air defenses responded to an Israeli attack near the town in the Hama province. The Syrian Ministry of Defense issued a statement saying Israel “launched an aggression by directing a barrage of rockets” from the north of the Lebanese city of Tripoli towards the Masyaf area. Israeli jets regularly violate Lebanese airspace and have often struck inside Syria from Lebanese territory. But the Christmas Eve flights were louder than usual, frightening residents of Beirut who have endured multiple crises in the past year, including the catastrophic Aug. 4 explosion at the city’s port that killed over 200 people and destroyed parts of the capital.

#headlines #news

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca: Behind the Scenes (Biadore) - doctor bitchcraftt

Companion to the full Five Times People Caught Adore & Bianca, explaining what the two of them were *really* up to when they were discovered.

Read the original stories: Season six, Courtney Act, Michelle Visage, Shangela, Alyssa Edwards

A/N: As the situations and explanations grew continuously more ridiculous, the explanations had to be almost completely mundane. Let me know if you’d like to see me write these for Courtney and Michelle’s chapters. Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

********

Black and White Drama - Season Six

Walking back into the workroom, Bianca took one look at the confab taking place in the corner and made a neat 90-degree turn to her alcove instead. While she wouldn’t mind talking with Darienne and DeLa, the last thing she wanted to deal with was the oncoming bout of drama Laganja was doubtless going to stir up.

The rhinestoned evening gloves went back into their mesh bag, followed by her bracelet and heavy earrings, then her wig separated back into sections (most definitely not thrown into a pile like some of the other queens). Rubbing the indent on her shoulder, she unclipped the oversized sculpted bow, leaving her in just the bodice and ballgown skirt.

A quick glance around didn’t produce anyone who could help her out of the gown. All of the other girls were still across the room focused on the lipsync surprise. Adore was the only other one in the process of de-dragging, but it looked like she was too busy untucking to bother.

Bianca pulled the stuffing out of her bra cups before sucking in and twisting her arms to reach for the hooks and zipper. The bodice came undone with a bit of effort and she started in on the skirt. After hours on stage and in the lounge, she would be more than happy to have its weight off her padded hips.

The zipper slid down a couple of inches before getting stuck, and she rolled her eyes. Of course.

Turning her back to the mirror, she could see where the zipper was hung up on the crinoline hoop. She lifted the entire skirt far enough to slide her fingers under the catch, hoping to work it loose by feel. It seemed to be snagged on several layers of fabric, which meant she was probably going to need help to avoid ripping any seams.

“Well shit,” she muttered, hiking up the skirt again to give it another try.

She repeated the process again; this time when the zipper came back up, it caught on part of her corset lacing. Giving a frustrated tug only resulted in pulling the lacing further, cord caught between the zipper teeth and hoop casing. The sudden constriction surprised her into to dropping the skirt, its momentum yanking things even tighter.

Bianca gritted her teeth and made another attempt at getting free, but everything was too tangled at that point.

“Ah…” Her voice came out thin and breathy. Cursing silently, she leaned out to see if Laganja was done with her moment.

Nope. Maybe Satan was actually here today.

Instead of wasting air to yell, she grabbed the nearest small object (a box of bobby pins) and lobbed it across room. It bounced off Adore’s back and she jumped in surprise, looking left and right, but didn’t turn around.

The next thing to hand was a large sequined flower, which tangled itself in Adore’s wig. She finally looked in her direction in confusion before responding to the urgent ‘come here’ gestures, tights halfway down her legs.

”Why’s your neck all blotchy and stuff?”

Even in her current predicament, Bianca had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“ ‘M stuck,” she gritted out, pointing at her lower back and trying to stay calm. Never let a bitch see you sweat. “Can’t breathe.”

Adore immediately reached for a pair of scissors, but Bianca shook her head. Comprehension dawned (thankfully) and Adore stepped behind her, trying to untangle the snag but only succeeding in making it worse still. Bianca groaned, then grabbed her arm and lifted the front of the skirt.

”Hoop’s caught…underneath.”

Adore dropped to her knees in front of her, frowning before sticking her head under the skirt, pushing aside layers of tulle until her hands met at the bottom of Bianca’s corset.

Bianca's ears were starting to ring, and she dropped the skirt to grab Adore’s shoulders for support, breathing in shallow pants. Sweat dripped from her hairline, and she really hoped that the skirt wouldn’t require a repair job.

”Oh god, hurry up,” she forced out. There was no way she was going to create reality tv drama by passing out on camera - particularly when the operators were all too busy filming in the corner to notice. So much for safety on set.

“Think I’ve got it?” Adore’s voice was muffled by tulle and organza. Whatever she did next loosened things enough for Bianca to draw in a little more air.

”Yes, almost there…I can feel it. Watch the teeth,” she added as Adore tugged on the zipper.

“Chill, girl,” came the response from somewhere near her right hip, “I know how to use one.”

The tension in her corset eased all at once, and she heaved a huge breath. Considering how little she knew about dress construction, Bianca had to give Adore credit for persistence (and not calling the other girls over to laugh).

Right as the skirt came loose accompanied by a wave of relief (or maybe that was the blood rushing back into her midsection?), Laganja, DeLa, Darienne, and Joslyn tumbled to the floor less than ten feet away with a loud exclamation.

Bianca really didn’t want to ask.

********

My name is Adore Delano and I’m a messy slut - Shangela

The door swung shut after Katya, who called out something in Russian and was off in a cloud of blonde hair and eyeball-printed polyester, following Violet, Detox, and Alyssa.

Bianca added a couple more pins to make sure her wig was secure and gave it a last blast of hairspray, eyeing the arrangement of curls with a critical eye. Beside her, Adore was frowning into the mirror as she dug into her bag of lipsticks. Several tubes were laid out alongside opened lip liners, but she tossed the last one down with a groan.

”Something wrong?” Bianca spoke around the bobby pin between her teeth.

”None of these are right.“

Once she could see the other side of Adore’s face, Bianca paused to take in the whole picture. A series of roughly oval shaped blotches of lipstick covered the side of her neck, in no apparent pattern. Combined with her red-smeared mouth, she looked like a vampire movie gone wrong.

”Crime scene realness?”

Adore slumped even further in her chair.

“See, I had this idea for photos. Like how I’m always saying I’m a messy slut?”

”…right.” She raised an intrigued eyebrow, not sure where this was going.

”I wanted to make it look like the morning after. You know, one of those nights you wake up after and don’t remember what happened until you look in the mirror?”

Bianca considered her glum expression in silence for a minute before giving into the urge to try and make her smile instead.

“Want me to give it a shot?”

Receiving a shrug in response, she grabbed a makeup wipe and reached for a lip liner. Unfortunately, a few minutes of experimenting with different colors and products left them with only marginally better results.

“None of it looks real enough,” she admitted reluctantly. “Too bad Katya isn’t here, she’d probably bite your neck for free if you asked.”

Adore paused in scrubbing her neck clean for the fifth time.

”I dunno if the lipstick would show up anyway. Guess I’ll have to do something else.”

Bianca hated the look of defeat, no matter the cause. The colors all went on well enough, but it seemed impossible to reproduce the distinctive lip-print texture.

“Hang on. What if - let me see -”

She reached out to steady Adore’s chin, dusting her neck with loose powder to create an even surface. Applying a fresh layer of lipstick, she leaned in and quickly pressed her lips to the freshly powdered skin, ignoring the bitter taste of makeup mixed with remover.

Adore eyed the results in the mirror and perked up. “Huh.”

”Not bad, actually.” Bianca had to admit it looked far better than their best attempts at drawing.

”Looks real. I mean it is real, just it shows up pretty well.”

Bianca nodded and scrutinized her own face, checking for smudges.

“You know…”

”What?”

”Wanna do the rest?”

“Seriously, queen?" Bianca fixed her eyes on Adore’s best hopefully innocent expression in the mirror. "The things I do for you.”

Several coats of lipstick later, Adore’s neck was decorated with enough red lip prints that it resembled a Valentine’s Day card.

”That good?” At this rate, she would have to redo her lip liner. Again.

”It needs more, but I dunno how to make it scream ‘messy slut’ to the camera.”

”I thought that would be obvious without the makeup.”

”Fuck all the way off. Although,” Adore tilted her head in a way that usually spelled trouble, “what about hickeys?”

“For real? I swear I’m gonna go get Katya.”

“Please B? Just pretend I’m-“

“Finish that sentence and I really will cut up your wigs.”

Bianca gave her a dead eye stare, receiving only a pleading pout in response.

"Fine. Up,” she pointed at the vanity table, “if I’m doing this right, I can’t lean down that far.”

“You’re the best, B!”

With one more long-suffering huff, she picked a spot over Adore’s collarbone and pressed an open-mouthed kiss onto the skin. Deliberately not thinking about what it would look like if anyone walked in, Bianca bit down carefully.

Half a second later, she reeled backwards, stars exploding behind her eyes.

“What the fuck?" Bianca gingerly touched the bridge of her nose where it had collided with Adore’s shoulder when she flinched.

"Sorry!" Adore sounded simultaneously apologetic and trying to fight off giggles. "That tickled bad. Promise I won’t do it again.”

Gripping Adore’s arms firmly to anchor herself, Bianca leaned back in.

“Try not to break my nose this time?”

��Can’t help it, it’s a big target.”

“You’re lucky I love you, bitch, because this is just weird.”

********

The Naked Truth - Alyssa Edwards

Bianca didn’t so much wake up as be bludgeoned into consciousness by the headache. She might have been able to ignore her throbbing temples if they hadn’t been accompanied by the feeling of her brain sloshing around inside of her head. Her chest felt horribly heavy, and the sheets might as well be a sauna.

There was a reason she liked to stick to wine. This felt like the mother of all hard alcohol hangovers.

Opening her eyes didn’t help much, because all she could see was a mass of dark hair that seemed to be covering her entire face. Last night was a slightly blank spot, and Bianca closed her eyes again and tried very hard not to move.

Did she pass out before de-dragging? It didn’t happen often these days, but it was always a possibility. That might explain why she was having trouble breathing, except the constriction stretched unevenly from just under her collarbone on the right down across both hips.

A low groan directly into her ear made her flinch hard enough that her head started spinning.

Shit.

What was most definitely not a corset resolved itself into an arm and leg rather effectively pinning her in place, at least until the hangover wore off enough that she could pry the limbs off.

Bianca tried to turn her head to see who might be sharing her bed, feeling stubble brushing against her cheek.

At least it probably wasn’t a woman. That would be even more awkward.

Whoever it was had their face pressed against her shoulder, breath fanning hot over her throat. Another groan that sounded more alert was followed by lips pressing purposefully up the side of her neck and the hand starting to slide teasingly across her ribs.

Great. A morning sex person. After whatever night she’d had, that was firmly off the table.

Bianca glanced down her own body and silently thanked whatever deity watched over drag queens as the MEOW tattooed on the hand currently roaming her torso swam into focus.

Identity panic resolved, Bianca set about trying to get free.

”Ahh-“ The name caught in her dry throat, and she tried again.

”Adore.”

”Mmmmm….whuh?” Adore nuzzled the skin behind her ear.

”Do you mind?”

The fingers stopped mid-caress, and Bianca relaxed when the lips pulled away from her neck. She’d tease Adore about mistaking her for trade after the hangover wore off.

“Sorry.”

Her sense of relief vanished as she suddenly became aware of two things.

One, Adore was naked. That in itself wasn’t an unusual state of being, although she always wore at least underwear to bed if they were sharing.

Two, and more distressingly, Bianca realized that she was too.

Frozen in place, she met sleepy green eyes with a look of dawning panic as Adore pushed herself up on one arm and raised the other hand to her face. Glancing down their bare bodies, she voiced Bianca’s sentiments perfectly.

”Oh fuck.”

****

Being a drag queen meant viewing your sisters in various states of undress with the same disinterest as when they were clothed. The ABCD shared dressing rooms often enough that most of the time, no one even bothered to go into the bathroom to tuck, and Adore was notoriously unselfconscious about standing around in a skimpy thong or nothing at all.

A drunk Adore was handsy and flirtatious, and being drunk with Bianca tended to erase their already barely existent sense of personal space. They’d fallen asleep together countless times over the years in any number of locations (tour buses, taxis, Courtney’s living room floor), to the point that waking up tangled around each other was the closest thing to normal.

None of that made waking up naked in bed together any less awkward.

Bianca yanked the sheets around her waist as Adore scrambled back with what was probably an identical expression of shock.

”Ummmm.”

Adore frowned around the pillow she had clutched to her chest. One eye still had a mostly intact winged liner and streaks of dried melted mascara ran down her other cheek. Bianca turned to her own reflection in the mirror above the desk, cringing when it revealed actual raccoon-like eyes from the mess of dark eyeshadow smeared up her forehead.

They stared at each other for a few seconds longer, until Bianca thought she could keep her voice steady.

“Do you remember last night?”

“Uhhh…we did a show. At that club?" Adore moved the pillow to her lap and tilted her head in thought.

”…yeah. After that,“ Bianca groaned. "Also, where the hell are our clothes?”

“Oh. Here?” She leaned across to the other bed, lifting a pile of pleather and mesh that squelched unappealingly, water dripping onto the carpet. “Think yours is over there?”

The sequined mini dress she’d worn to perform in was laid on a towel across the table next to the sections of her wig, tights draped over the back of one of the chairs. She lifted the dress, ignoring the cold air hitting sensitive body parts.

“B?" Adore had come around the bed and was standing on the other side of the table, wringing water into the wastebasket. “What are you doing?”

Bianca raised her head from sniffing at the dress fabric. “Smells like bleach.”

“Is it cum?”

“For fuck’s sake Delano, how much cum would it take to soak an entire dress? I’m not that much of a whore. And it looks like water.”

“…actually, mine does too. And I am that slut.”

“Not helpful.”

Her heels were underneath the chair, one on its side and slightly damp. The other was upright with a small puddle of water still inside, the smell even stronger than her dress.

Sitting back down on the bed, Bianca felt more pieces slide together in her brain with an almost audible click.

“Alyssa bought us shots. We walked back after, pretty sure we weren’t breaking any public decency laws.”

“Being naked is natural. People are uptight.”

“Still not helping."

"Ummmm.” Adore paused with her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth. On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous.

“Hey, I remember! There were hot guys in the pool.”

“…chlorine.”

“Oh. Oh! Right.”

“Bet you went in fully dressed.”

Adore fumbled on the other nightstand for her phone, scrolling to the camera roll, then burst out laughing.

Bianca snatched it from her unresisting fingers and blinked in surprise. The last photo was a selfie, with a grinning Adore in a sopping wet wig, makeup running down her face. Next to her, a much less amused and equally waterlogged Bianca, normal pouf of curls hanging limp across her shoulder and eyelashes missing.

“I’m not going to ask how I ended up in the pool, but I’m willing to bet it’s your fault.”

“Hey! That’s not fair.”

“It’s usually your fault.”

“…true.”

Someone knocked on the door, startling them both. Bianca checked the clock - 10:30 am. Probably one of the other queens wondering where they were.

Alyssa’s voice came through the door, loud and clear, and she sighed. Shifting, she checked for something to put on, but other than the still-wet drag, there didn’t seem to be anything else to hand. The knocking became more insistent, and Bianca called back a reply.

She looked at Adore, who shrugged and stood up to start digging in her suitcase.

“Great,” Bianca muttered, grabbing a pillow off the bed. “the Haus of Edwards is going to have a field day over this.”

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #canon compliant #fluff #humor #five times people caught adore and bianca #doctor bitchcraftt

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